Guest Post by George Davis 

“Pop,” Junior shouts.

“I’m still here,” Yancey says putting the telephone to his ear.

“Think about what I said.”

“I will. How’s your mother?”

“Mom and my stepfather and sister are doing fine.”

“So your mother is doing fine.”

Silence. “Yes Pop, she’s doing fine.”

“Good to hear. I’ll think about what you said and get back to you.”

“Yeah right Pop.”

“I will.”

“You don’t need that job Pop.”

“It’ll help until social security kicks in.”

“Pop, you retired from the marines and was a Philadelphia cop for how many years?”

“Ten. How’s your job?”

“Damn. I’m up for vice principal.”

“Was it my genes responsible for that or your good up bringing?”

“Your genes.”

“I got to go. I got company coming.”

“Okay, Pop, please think about what I said. I’m making this my project. So, think about it seriously.”

“I will.”  

Yancey met Jane when he was a Marine Corps Corporal. They got married after his promotion to Sergeant. Junior was born when he was a Staff Sergeant. It was after his promotion to First Sergeant when he decided that it would be a close to his career that she told him she did not want to be married to him no more. Her reason was a teacher, Frank, from their son’s school. He let her go without a fuss because he saw in her eyes that she was gone already. She took Junior and went with Frank to a suburb of Boston. There they got married.  

The telephone rings Junior’s ring tone. Yancey looks at the caller identifier; it shows Junior. “It can’t be him, but maybe, it is his wife,” he tells himself.


“Hello. Yancey is this you?”


“It’s Jane.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Some things I don’t want to forget.”

“Oh,” she says and then. “You didn’t come to your son’s funeral.”

“I was there. I just didn’t want to be noticed, check the register.”

“We didn’t get to that yet,” she says. She sobs. “This sucks. I divorced you to get him away from your damn family tree of marine warriors from the Philippine wars.”

“The legacy,” Yancey interrupts her, “was we always came back, scratched or wounded, we walked into the house.”

She cries. “He was to be a vice-principal.”

He ends the call.   

The student walked into the classroom, to his desk, slung his backpack off. A pistol dropped from it to the floor and discharged a bullet that killed Junior. END  

George A. Davis born in Philadelphia PA (presently resides in Tampa FL): studied creative writing at The Community College of Philadelphia, retired Federal government employee, and presently write stories – http://gadavis-writergeorge.blogspot.com


Posted on December 13, 2012, in Short Stories. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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